Vain: A Stepbrother Romance

by Hunter, Chelsea

  As I sit in the police car, tired from the long day, my eyes begin to close. Drifting off to sleep, my thoughts float to Mick’s comforting arms. I think about him holding me, keeping me close. Keeping me safe. I had not thought of it until now, but I think I’m in love with Mick.

  Disturbing images of John rush into my mind. He’s standing over me, holding a belt and whipping me hard with it. No one else is near; in fact, there’s nothing around us at all. We exist on some blank plane, just John and I. He is repeatedly beating me. I am immobilized.

  All at once, a huge wave comes out of nowhere and crashes down on John’s head, knocking him away. When the wave recedes, Mick appears, standing tall and proud. I grab his hand as he helps me up and pulls me close to his lips. His lips are drawing me in, like the first time we kissed. Slowly I move in, part my lips, and wait for the sweet taste of his mouth. But rather than kiss me, he began shaking me.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am!”

  Why was he calling me ma’am?

  “Ma’am, wake up. We’re here.“

  I am surreptitiously brought back to the land of the living by the officer. He wakes me from my dream kiss, rudely. I look at him with unintentional disdain.

  “Sorry to wake you. You looked uncomfortable, like you were having a bad dream.”

  “Oh, yeah. Thank you…” I turn my head so he will not see my disappointment as my thoughts return to Mick.

  I long to feel Mick’s lips upon mine, even though my feelings about him are still so conflicted. Not only is he my stepbrother, but he may have been cheating on his girlfriend. I have to stop going around in these circles and just decide on a plan of action.

  “Here we are, ma’am. If you will come with me, we will make this as quick as possible.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  The officer hurries over to my side of the car, opening the door before I can. He holds out his hand graciously and helps me out. I am so tired and just want to go home, but I realize the importance of protecting myself from John. We walk into the police station and go right over to a long desk.

  “This is Officer Davies. She will help you from here.”

  “Hi, Sam. Come in and sit down. I will take your statement.”

  I tell the officer all of the details as best I can remember. I truly hope that this will be enough to keep John away from me. I was scared of him before he knew where I lived, and now I am just a sitting duck.

  “I will get someone to take you home. Just go back out and wait on the bench.”

  “Thank you again.”

  Walking out to the front of the police station, I notice someone else sitting on the bench. Oh, my God. It’s Mick.

  His jaw drops. “Sam?! What are you doing here?”

  I stare right back at him. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

  “Long story,” he mutters.

  I sigh. “Seems like we have both had interesting nights.”

  “Listen, Sam, I am sorry about all of this. I truly am. I want to get to know you, I want to have time with you. Sure, I was in a relationship, but that was—”

  I cut him off before he can finish. Though I promised I would be sympathetic to his cause, I can’t help but think he is a cheater. “Mick. You have a girlfriend, and what you did to her was wrong.”

  As I hear the words fall from my lips, I wish they hadn’t. Truly, though, what chance did we have? Our courtship has been a passionate one, but at this point, that’s all it was. I still don’t know what his status is with his ex. It’s too bad that reality has to get in the way of true passion.

  “Tell me that your feelings for me are gone, and I will leave you alone forever. Tell me that all we are to each other is objects of desire, and I will be gone. This is more than that—you know it, and so do I.”

  Mick stands up, walking over to me. He grabs my elbows and looks deep into my eyes. “I can’t be the only one who feels these things.”

  My heart pounds. His touch is so gentle, yet so firm. His gaze forces me to avert mine, but I can still see those lips—they are calling to me. My body aches for him. I want nothing more than to kiss him, but it’s not our time. I am filled with a sense of sadness at the futility of our love. A tear rolls down my cheek as I push away from Mick.

  “I have to go.”

  I don’t even turn to look at him. Remorselessly walking away.

  .Chapter 13 – Time to pay the piper – Sam

  After too much time, I leave the police station. Explaining my side of the story and giving all the information I could, proved to be exhausting. I am pissed. Thoughts of Sam are still fresh in my mind as I return to my half-burnt house. What a humbling experience to know that all I have could have gone up in smoke, just like that.

  The thought occurs to me, though, all of these things are just that: things. There is no love in things—love is what you have for people. My mind is calm and aflutter all at the same time as I make my way into my beloved home. It smells of smoke and burnt wood, like a campfire. I do my best not to look, but I have to. I pick up a few broken picture frames, wondering what memory should have been in them. But they’re empty. There are no memories in them because, I have no one I wanted to share memories with. I let out a big sign, turn from the carnage, and make my way to bed.

  The US Open is just a day away now, and I have to concentrate on that if I am going to do as well as I hope. I need to get some board time in. I can’t remember the last time I had a practice session. It’s always hard for me to have enough time to practice. These days, there is just too much on my plate. If I could only get some time at the pier.

  As I lay down on my bed, relaxing becomes easier. My bed feels so sweet, as it had been a long day. Just as I begin to drift off, I hear a knock at the door. I put on a pair of shorts and make my way there. As I peer through the peephole, I see its Sam. My annoyance shifts to pleasure and excitement as I fling open the door.

  “Sam! What are you doing here?”

  “I came for you, Mick.” She says it in such a sultry voice. My arousal is instantaneous.

  Sam leaps at me like a cat stalking her prey. She is here for one reason, and one reason only. Who am I to deny her pleasure? As she pushes me back I stumble to the floor, yet she does not belay her pursuit. Looking up as she stands there, wearing tight PVC pants and an ankle-length trench coat, her intentions are quite clear.

  Sam puts her hands on her hips, which are covered by shiny, plastic gloves, and stares at me. My cock becomes engorged at the sight of her, as a wicked smile spreads across her face. Her short, hair and piercing stare arouse me in a way I have never felt before. Sam continues to stare at me, rubbing her pussy in an almost evil fashion. I sit up in preparation to stand, but Sam places her stiletto heel upon my chest, pushing me back down. She walks forward until she has one leg on either side of my body, then turns around and squats until her ass is just inches from my face. She has a glorious ass, so round and perfect. I rub her ass, enjoying the feeling of the material on my hands. There is a zipper in arm’s reach, just below her hair. As I pull it down, the material peels out of the way as if under pressure.

  The musculature of her back is very sexy. I begin to rub her back as she sits down on my chest. She peels her arms from the garment, then swivels around, still sitting on me, holding one hand in front of her ample breasts. Her heels are now by my ears.

  With her free hand she reaches back and begin stroking my cock. I reach for her other arm, wanting to pull it away and see her delicious tits. She does not let me. In fact, she slaps me hard in the face, stands up, and walks away. I have no idea where she went and I’m not even sure if she’s coming back. I wait for a second and then jump up to pursue her. My cock is so hard, uncomfortably pulling at my shorts. I decide to just take off my shorts and be naked. As I run through the house, I hear her call my name—or rather, whisper it.

  “Mick… I am in here.”

  Slowly, I follow the sounds of Sam’s voice, only to find her in my bedroom, mo
aning. She is lying on the bed completely naked, with the exception of her heels. I follow the length of her leg with my eyes to try and sneak a peek at more of her, but she strategically covers herself. As she motions to me with a finger, I hypnotically walk into the room until I am at the edge of the bed. Sam arches her back seductively, never opening her eyes. Climbing up on the bed, I taste her sweet skin as I run kisses up her stomach to her pert breasts. I gently flick her nipples with my tongue. A rush of air accidentally escapes her lips in ecstasy. Sam grabs my back and pulls me in tightly. I can feel my hard cock rubbing into the wetness of her pussy. From this position, it would be impossible to enter her—Sam is holding on too tightly.

  “I want you inside me, Mick. Why don’t you take me?”

  I know what she really wants. She wants me to control her. Sam bares her teeth at me threateningly, goading me on. I am not one to shy away, so I force myself from her grip, backing up hard as I do. I grab Sam’s wrists and force them to the bed. She smiles and bites her lip, acknowledging my control by struggling no further.

  My hard cock now rubs against her wet pussy as she moans with delight. Slowly, I slide my cock into her, allowing her to feel the full girth of it. She squeezes her eyes shut even tighter—it’s a lot of cock for anyone to take. Soon enough her pussy accommodates my manhood in a way that is almost without friction.

  Sam is as wet as anyone could be, as wet as is humanly possible. She begins to struggle against my grip, but I am not about to let go. As she tries to sit up, I begin relentlessly pounding her pussy. She tries to fight off the feeling of orgasm; I can see it in her face. She tenses up her muscles, clenches her fists, and with a guttural scream she comes. Hard, and for quite a long time. As Sam is writhing beneath me, I hear someone outside, calling my name.

  “Mick!”

  They’re knocking so loud they’re shaking the door.

  “Mick! Mick! Open the damn door!”

  I pull away from Sam and press a finger to her lips, indicating for her to be quiet. Then I grab my shorts, walk over to the door, and reaching down, I grab for the handle.

  Chapter 14 – Competition Day – Mick

  Reaching down, I grab for the door handle, and in a flash, I am awake. A cruel fate—this had all been a dream.

  My phone is vibrating beside me. It’s Delia. I reach to answer, but then think better of it. I’m tired of her, tired of the drama, tired of the fighting—just tired. Never mind the fact that she just set my house on fire. Delia is a chapter of my life that I am glad to put behind me.

  Taking stock of what survived the flames, I realize I lost several treasured items to my ex’s wrath. Some old letters from girlfriends and family keepsakes, but thankfully, my father still has my board. Life was so simple when I rode that board. It was the first board I rode, and I rode it until I was sixteen. I guess I was just a child then and didn’t really understand how complicated life could be. In retrospect, it sure felt like I knew a lot more back then than I do now. I guess life was just simpler then, easier and carefree. I long for those days once again.

  Looking over to the clock, I see it’s only six a.m. I remind myself it’s also competition day. Thankfully, I don’t have to go to the prelims if I don’t want to, but I do want to get some time in. I’ll show up there around ten or so.

  My thoughts are still of Sam. That dream last night has my mind reeling. I’m not even sure, at this point, if she wants to see me. There are other things that require my focus today.

  My phone rings again. This time, it’s Jaime.

  “Hi, Jaime.”

  “Mick, what the fuck, man? I have been knocking on your door for an hour. We have to get down to the beach. What the fuck happened to your house?”

  “Jaime, go home. I am not going to the beach now. This is competition day. We agreed that you would leave me alone on competition day.”

  “I know, but we have an interview with USA Today. This is big man, really big.”

  “Jaime, leave me alone. We had an agreement. I am not doing that interview.”

  “What’s with you these days, man? You’ve changed. I think I need to find new talent.”

  “That’s fine, man, go ahead. Maybe this whole surfing thing isn’t for me, after all.”

  “Fuck, Mick, come on! Do me this one favor.”

  “Forget it, Jaime. I am hanging up now.”

  The phone goes dead. This isn’t the first time he had threatened to get rid of me. I know he must have promised someone an interview and is now in hot water. I’m just relieved he’s gone.

  I have a ritual before every competition: I go into my surfboard room and select the best board for the conditions. I usually bring a few, in case the weather changes or something breaks. I have never broken a board, but I have seen it happen. Well let’s just say someone in my life has broken boards before. What an idiot she is.

  As I get dressed and ready, something feels different. I don’t really want to compete today. In fact, for the first time ever, I feel a little scared. Being nervous is one thing—that’s always a rush. But I don’t feel nervous. I feel terrified. I feel as if going out there is just too… dangerous.

  I shake the feelings from my mind. I am a professional, after all, and I have a job to do. I select my boards, then prep and load them into the car. I get into the old beater and turn it on. One more try, Sam, one more try. I send her a text.

  “Competition day today. I have made arrangements for a special seat for you. I hope you will come.”

  I don’t really expect a response, but I make sure before turning my cell off and stuffing it into my glovebox for the day. It’s time to get in the game. Let’s go get what’s ours, Mick! You’re the best in the world!

  Driving to the beach, it’s impossible for me to get Sam off my mind. Thoughts I have never had before also ring around my head. Visions of getting hurt out there in the water, being washed up—none of them will leave me alone. I pull into the restricted parking lot, get my gear, and angrily walk my way to the beach.

  The loudspeaker blares:

  “Please welcome your 2014 World Champion, Mick Anderson! Let’s give him a hand.”

  The announcer expects me to say a few words now. I better say the right thing here. All of these people are expecting the mighty Mick Anderson to respond.

  “Hi, everyone. It’s a great day to surf, and I am looking forward to a weekend of amazing competition. We have the best surfers in the world here, in the best city in the world, and it’s going to be great.” I can hear myself speaking the words, but can’t make them sound interesting. There is more on my mind today.

  The announcer gives me a pitying look. “A hand for Mick Anderson.”

  With that, I prepare myself put all of my boards in the designated area and get dressed. I’m as ready now as I am ever going to be.

  I run out into the ocean. The cool sting of water shudders through my body. Thankfully, the wetsuit has kept out most of the cold. Flopping onto my board, it’s time to paddle out. There are a few of my surfing buddies here, but they’re all in competition mode, too. We politely nod to each other, understanding just how much is riding on today’s competition. The waves are really nice today, so I should be able to get a few good rides in.

  I find a spot in line just as I pick out my first wave. Usually I wait, but this one is too good to miss. I paddle in and I’m not disappointed.

  I tuck down as the wave envelops me—to my shock, I’m in a barrel at the Pier. I have been surfing here for over twenty years and never made, nor had I ever seen anyone make, a barrel. I can hear the announcer going crazy. Other than that, all that can be heard is water. Water rushing over my head. A hollow echo in my ears. There is a great deal of peace in it, which is making the moment seem to last longer than it really is.

  Taking a quick look back, I see the wave is closing fast. Time to get out. Putting my weight forward, I emerge with a victorious fist in the air. The crowd is screaming and cheering. Seems as though they liked it as muc
h as I did. That may have been a lifetime best wave for me at the Pier. Maybe I was wrong about my feeling this morning. Maybe this is the best time to be in the water.

  I paddle back out to my spot with a big smile on my face. The other surfers are clapping for me. If that ride had not been extraordinary, they would never have clapped. There’s true admiration from them, which fills me with a sense of pride.

  The surf dies after that. There is no wave I want to enter into. Knowing this is a timed event, I will have to take a wave, but I just can’t find one. I watch the other surfers catching small waves, making the best out of them. They won’t score higher than I did on that barrel. I know the competition is close, but not close enough for them. There is it—I see another wave like the one before. Positioning myself I begin to paddle in, but something bumps me. I’m knocked from my board. What a strange feeling. Was it a rock? Or a turtle?

  I cling to my board, scanning the water. Only hoping it isn’t what I think it is. Though, I see nothing. Alarms and horns begin blaring. People on the beach and pier began to scream. “Shark! Shark!” That’s the last thing anyone wants to hear. Paddling frantically, I make a break for the shore.

  If I didn’t look back, I would have never seen the fin coming at me with speed. I never would have noticed the teeth bearing down on me. This isn’t just a shark—this is a monster. Its mouth is as tall as my board is long, and as he clamps down on my leg, white flashes of pain take my breath away. Instinctively I turn around as best I can and punch the shark in the nose and eyes. I don’t stop punching until he lets me go. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I swallow hard as the shark spits me out and quickly swims away. I am in trouble, though. A trail of blood leaks out behind me from the gaping wound in my calf. It’s a gruesome sight. The announcer is screaming for a medic and the sounds of approaching jet skis buzzed like hornets in the distance as I slipped off the board and into blackness.